


Sleeping Arrangements

by timehopper



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And together they are an unstoppable force of annoying, Claude von Riegan is a Little Shit, F/M, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sylvain Jose Gautier Is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 05:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Hilda isn't lonely - or so she tells herself - but when she meets Dimitri, she starts to rethink that a little.Or: Hilda and Dimitri bond over their respective annoying roommates dating.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Sleeping Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omobot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omobot/gifts).



> This was written as a (very late, omg) holiday gift for my beloved friend [omo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omobot)! She asked me for modern AU DimiHilda with background Claudevain, where Claude and Hilda/Dimitri and Sylvain are roommates, and I was so profoundly excited to write it! In fact, at least half this fic was written on my phone in bursts of frenzied inspiration at one in the morning, because ideas just kept gripping me. I was possessed by the DimiHilda brainworms...
> 
> Anyway, I hope this fic is as fun to read as it was to write! I love these characters so much. <3

It’s a bright, sunny morning, cloudless and clear. The kind of morning that Hilda would love waking up to, under normal circumstances, because it means she’ll be able to go outside and bask in the sun for a few hours. It’s been dreary for _days,_ and she could really use a day out, but – careful what you wish for, she supposes – the light beaming in through her thin decorative curtains this morning is nothing but annoying. 

She groans and turns over, trying to bury herself under the covers to avoid it, but it’s no use. She’s awake now, and even as exhausted as she is, there’s no hope she’ll be able to fall asleep again. And so, irritated beyond reason, Hilda throws the sheets off herself, thrusts her feet into the slippers at her bedside, and shuffles out of her room to make her way to the kitchen. 

She smells coffee.

“That had better be for me,” Hilda grunts as she closes her door behind her. As she makes her way to the kitchen, slippers scuffing against the polished tile, she yawns and lets her eyes slip shut. She’s lived in this apartment long enough she doesn’t need to see to get from one place to the other, and it’s not like her sleepy, bleary eyes will do her much good anyway. 

She makes it to the kitchen without incident and slumps into a seat at the kitchen island. Hilda flops over it, arms extended all the way across its length to accept the coffee cup that’s quickly placed between her outstretched hands. 

"You're the best," she says around a yawn. "Seriously, I couldn't ask for a kinder, sweeter, more generous and helpful roommate…"

"Aw, thanks, Hilda," says a voice that’s definitely, absolutely, one-hundred percent not her roommate. "You think you could tell Dimitri that for me?" 

Hilda's eyes snap open.

"You're not Claude," she says.

"Nope." Standing across from her, shameless and shirtless as he leans against the kitchen counter with his own mug of coffee, is Sylvain Jose Gautier. A worn-out pair of sweatpants that _definitely_ don’t belong to him are slung low on his hips, and Hilda glares at them, pretending she’s mad so she doesn’t have to admit she’s checking him out. 

"Those are Claude's pants," she says.

"That they are.”

"Where is he?" 

Sylvain shrugs. "Still meditating, probably." But then, as if on cue, the door to Claude's bedroom opens and said man walks out, looking far more awake than he has any right to at nine in the morning when he and his boyfriend had kept Hilda up until four. 

"Good morning, Hilda!" Claude says, bright and sunny as ever. He’s got his usual charming (shit-eating) grin on his face, and Hilda thinks she’s never hated anyone more in her life than she does Claude right now.

"Glad someone around here looks well-rested," she grumbles. 

“What, didn’t sleep well?” 

“Um… no.” Hilda’s voice is sickly sweet, and her smile just as venomous as she turns to face Claude. “How could I, with you two going at it _all night_?” 

“Aw, it wasn’t all night,” Sylvain chimes in. He holds up his hands in apology when Hilda whirls around to glare at him. “But can you blame me? I mean, look at him.” 

“I see him every day, Sylvain.” Hilda huffs, but gives up the fight. She leans forward to nurse her coffee, the scent of it already working wonders to calm her down. It’s far too early and she’s had far too little sleep to really argue. 

She takes a sip. It’s creamy and sweet, just the way she likes it, and she lifts her head to raise a brow at Sylvain. “It’s good.” 

“Claude told me how to prep it the way you like.” 

“Two white sugar cubes, one brown, and a whole lot of cream.” Claude grins. “We figured it could be a peace offering.” 

“Hm.” Hilda takes another sip. “Fine, fine, all is forgiven. For now. You know I can’t stay mad at you, Claude. As for you…” She points an accusing finger at Sylvain. “If you can keep making me coffee that’s this good, then I guess you can stick around.” 

Sylvain lifts his mug. “Thanks, Hilda. Always a pleasure serving such a beautiful lady.” 

Hilda rolls her eyes. “Easy there, lover boy, or Claude’s going to get jealous.” 

“Too late,” Claude says. “My heart has already been broken in twain, cleaved and quartered by your devastating betrayal! If only I had something to soothe this pain. Perhaps something to drink…?” 

In his theatrics, Claude had closed his eyes, but he cracks one open now and grins at Sylvain. Both he and Hilda roll their eyes fondly, and Sylvain turns around to fix Claude his coffee.

Hilda laughs as Claude slips into the seat next to her. “Oh, yeah,” she says, taking another long, indulgent sip of her coffee. “If he can put up with you like that, then he’s definitely a keeper.” 

* * *

It isn’t that Hilda is lonely, per se. She has plenty of friends and no shortage of free time, so hardly a day goes by where she isn’t talking to or seeing _someone_. But sometimes, when she sees Claude and Sylvain together, stealing kisses or holding hands when they think she isn’t looking, Hilda thinks she might miss being in love.

It’s a silly thought, really. Hilda loves being single. She likes the freedom of it, likes being able to flirt and tease and sleep around with whoever she likes. She likes being able to sucker poor, unsuspecting guys into helping her with whatever mundane task she may not feel like doing, and likes the attention that boys and girls alike tend to shower her with. 

Being in a relationship may not completely stop those things, but it would certainly put a damper on them. Still, when she thinks of the trade-off – someone to hold her at night and tell her everything is okay, someone to kiss her and touch her and love her unconditionally, someone she can trust with her deepest, darkest fears and who will tell her theirs in turn – she can’t help but feel some kind of longing for it. 

Most of the time she can ignore it, but somehow, today is different. Somehow, seeing Sylvain and Claude brush noses as Sylvain pulls on his coat and gets ready to leave for work makes her chest ache with envy. 

She turns away, busying herself with watering the orchid she keeps on the coffee table. Her attention is drawn back soon, however, when Sylvain raises his voice.

"By the way," he says as he slips his feet into his boots, "Dimitri and I are hosting movie night at our place tomorrow. He asked me to pass along the invite to both of you, so feel free to drop by."

Hilda bites the inside of her cheek. A movie night? With Sylvain’s friends? It doesn’t really sound like her cup of tea, but she doesn’t exactly want to turn Sylvain down completely. So, putting on her best pout, Hilda hums and haws and shifts her weight from foot to foot. "I don't know," she starts, “I think I had plans…"

"We'll be there," Claude interjects, either completely ignorant or completely uncaring of how little she wants to go.

Sylvain smiles. "Great! See you tomorrow, then."

He leans forward to kiss Claude goodbye, and this time, Hilda decides to excuse herself before things get too heated.

She does, however, make a mental note to get Claude back for his betrayal later. 

* * *

That's when it starts. 

Movie night isn't nearly as terrible as Hilda had expected. Despite some lingering irritation that she'd been signed up to attend this party against her will, she can't say she _hates_ it. Sylvain's friends are nice enough, and Dimitri is as pleasant as she remembers from the few times they'd passed each other by. He's fussy in all the right ways, making sure she's comfortable and that she's got a cold drink in her hands and that there’s plenty of candy to keep everyone happy through the movie. He sees to it that all his guests are comfortable and have a place to sit (albeit with some difficulty; his Duscur friend is big enough to take nearly two spaces on the couch). He even apologizes profusely to Hilda when every other seat in the house is claimed, leaving her to sit next to him.

She insists it's fine, and it is, but secretly she's glad that someone's finally treating and pampering her like the delicate flower she is – even if it is over a silly movie night. 

The movie itself is fine. It's an action movie with lots of gunfights, lots of killing, and little dialogue. Hilda thinks Sylvain's friend Felix, who’s sitting alone in an armchair at the other end of the living room, picked it out. He seems the type. And even though Hilda doesn't particularly like action movies – give her a silly romcom or a Hallmark tearjerker over this any day – she can't deny that it's a good choice, if only because it limits how much Claude can nitpick at the plot. 

Not that it completely stops him, of course. And, even worse (but perhaps not surprisingly), Sylvain turns out to be just as bad. 

"That's not how silencers work," Sylvain says. He looks down at Claude, sitting on the floor and leaning back against Sylvain's chair. "You're telling me not a single person can hear the gunshots going off next to them?" 

Claude laughs. "Yeah, you'd think a seasoned assassin would know better than to—"

"Will you two _shut up_?"

Everyone in the room turns to look at Felix, arms crossed and face drawn tight in a furious scowl. "Some of us are trying to watch."

Sylvain grins. "Aw, come on, Felix, we're just enjoying the movie."

At the end of the couch closest to Sylvain, Ingrid glowers. She throws a popcorn kernel at him. "Then enjoy it quieter! Really, you two, don't you have any decency?" 

"None at all," Claude says. 

"Nope," Sylvain agrees. "Besides, Dimitri gets it. And you too Hilda. Don't you?" 

"Well…" Truth be told, Hilda doesn't really care either way. She's barely paying attention to the movie in the first place, but it is a little annoying that they keep interrupting it to chatter between themselves. 

"Actually," Dimitri cuts in, thankfully saving Hilda from having to admit she doesn't care. "You two are being rather noisy."

Huh. Hilda turns her gaze onto Dimitri next to her. She'd taken him for a total pushover at first, given how fussy he'd been when they'd all first arrived. Turns out that impression is wrong, even if he is being polite about it. 

"Ah, the sting of betrayal," Claude says, reaching up to pat Sylvain's cheek. "It's okay, babe. I still like you."

"I think we'd all like you more if you made yourself useful instead of talking through the movie," Ingrid says. She smiles and holds out her empty popcorn bowl. "Refill, please!" 

Sylvain pouts. “Why me? Dedue makes it so much better.” 

“Because Dedue is being quiet and considerate, so he shouldn’t have to miss the movie.” 

“I do not mind making more popcorn,” Dedue offers. 

"Nah, it’s fine." Sylvain sighs his most put-upon sigh (one eerily similar to the one Hilda employs when she's trying to get something she wants), and stands. "I know when I'm not wanted. Claude, come give me a hand in the kitchen, will you?" 

"And _just_ a hand this time," Hilda jokes. She and Claude share a knowing smirk; beside her, Dimitri groans. 

"Please do not make a mess," he says. Again, Hilda is caught off guard: he hadn't seemed the type to get that sort of double entendre, but… Well, she supposes that he does live with Sylvain. 

"No promises."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Just go already."

Sylvain laughs, takes Claude by the hand, and the two of them retreat into the kitchen. 

In the meantime, the movie keeps playing. With no more distractions, Hilda finds she's able to get into it a little better, even if there's a severe lack of a romantic subplot. She doesn’t even look up when Sylvain and Claude return with popcorn until they start chattering again (quieter this time, thankfully). 

When she turns to glare at them, they’re huddled together on the chair, Claude half in Sylvain’s lap and a blanket draped over them both. They look sickeningly sweet all bundled up together like that, and Hilda has half a mind to make facetious gagging noises, but she decides to focus on something more important instead. 

They’re all cozied up, and it’s freezing in here.

Hilda whines. “Hey, no fair. How come _they_ get a blanket? I’m cold, too!” 

She catches a few glares from Felix and Ingrid, but across from the couch, Sylvain and Claude are biting back grins. They know _exactly_ what she’s up to, and for a moment, Hilda is worried they’re going to blow her cover. But instead, someone else speaks up: 

“Oh! My apologies, Hilda. Let me go get you one.” 

Dimitri rises from his spot on the couch and shuffles over to a hallway closet. He’s quiet enough, but that doesn’t stop Felix from grumbling about “distractions.” 

(And, when Dimitri bends down to grab whatever he’s looking for, Hilda has to admit she has a few thoughts on _distractions_ herself.)

He comes back with two blankets: one large and one small. Dimitry smiles idly as he drapes the small one over the back of Felix’s chair (which Felix protests, even as he takes the blanket and lays it over his lap), and unrolls the larger one to lay it across everyone on the couch. Hilda quickly bundles herself up in her portion of it, tucking her legs under her and shoving her hands under it. The relief is immediate.

“Ah, that’s much better! It’s so soft and warm and comfy…” 

Dimitri nods. “That is the best blanket in the house. Dedue brought it from Duscur. I daresay it was our best housewarming gift.” 

A small, pleased smile spreads across Dedue’s face, all the way on the other end of the couch. "It is made of fine Duscur wool," he says. "It will keep you warm."

Dimitri smiles and sits back down under the blanket. The couch dips under his weight; it’s all Hilda can do to stop herself falling into him. She manages, though, and in the end she’s grateful that he’s the one that ended up next to her: Dimitri is warm enough that she can feel his body heat even through her clothes. With the blanket keeping it trapped, too, the couch is comfier and cozier than ever.

And it’s… nice. Hilda has no illusions of anything happening here, but the mere fact that Dimitri went out of his way to get her – and everyone else – a blanket when he had been so invested in watching the movie… he’s shockingly kind for how scary the eyepatch makes him look. He’s kind, and warm… and strong… and…

* * *

Hilda blinks awake. The lights are all back on; Ingrid and Dedue have gotten up from the couch, Felix is reluctantly helping Dedue gather up all the empty popcorn bowls, and Sylvain is folding the blanket he and Claude had been snuggled up under. She catches Claude’s eye, and despite the sleepy fog still lingering in her brain, she knows immediately she’s in trouble. 

“Well, well! The sleeping princess awakens.” 

Hilda groans. “Shut up, Claude.” 

It’s then that she notices something amiss. She’s leaning over and resting her head on… something. Something that should have been, but definitely is not, a pillow. Something firm and warm and – and _moving_. 

She’d been sleeping on Dimitri’s arm. 

The moment she realizes, Hilda shoots straight up. She ignores Claude’s laughter at her expense, and tries to ignore the quiet chuckle coming from Dimitri. It’s hard – Dimitri is unfortunately _adorable_ when he smiles – but she manages through sheer willpower. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, you should have woken me up…” 

Dimitri simply shrugs, the amused smile on his face never faltering. “I don’t mind,” he says. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.” 

Hilda gapes. Her heart pounds in her chest, loud enough she’s sure everyone can hear it – and if they can’t, they can probably guess, because her face is probably red as a beet right now, judging by how warm it is. Her dignity is saved, however, when Claude tugs on her ponytail from behind. 

“Alright, Hilda, stop making eyes at the poor guy. It’s past his bedtime.” 

“ _Claude_!” Dimitri and Hilda snap indignantly in unison. Claude just laughs, shrugs, and moves back to Sylvain to help him finish tidying up. He doesn’t get far, though, before Sylvain hooks him around the waist and leans in to kiss him.

In the corner, Felix groans. “That’s it. I’m never watching a movie with any of you ever again.” 

* * *

Hilda tries not to think about Dimitri too much after that. For a while, it isn’t difficult; they typically run in different social circles, so they don’t see each other very often outside of Hilda tagging along to the occasional movie night or them happening to be at the same get-together by chance. 

That starts changing, however, when Claude and Sylvain start inviting Dimitri over for game night. 

Hilda has a love-hate relationship with game night. On one hand, she doesn’t really care for most of the board games her friends pick out (although she’s had some pretty sweet wins playing some of Claude’s social deception games); but on the other, more often than not these game nights devolve into everyone sitting around the table gossiping. 

Those are typically the game nights she likes best. More and more often, however, she finds herself enjoying game night for the actual games once Dimitri starts participating. 

At first he had been shy, quiet, and reserved, insisting on watching rather than participating. He assured them all he was no good at board games, and although Sylvain protested at the time, it still took Dimitri a few weeks before he agreed to try anything. 

But when he finally did decide to play, he wiped the floor with them.

“I still don’t know how you’re so good at this game,” Hilda says after the third round in row Dimitri wins, dropping her cards on the table. “You’re usually so honest; how can you keep getting away with smuggling all that contraband?” 

“He gets away with it _because_ he’s so honest,” Claude says. “Meanwhile, nobody let me get away with anything. I don’t think I’ve ever lost this badly before.” 

“It’s your own fault, babe.” Sylvain rubs Claude’s shoulder placatingly. “You’re the one who keeps telling everyone you’re not trustworthy. But yeah, seriously, I’m with Hilda. When did you get so good at lying, Dimitri?”

“I have a mind for business,” Dimitri says simply. “Although I should point out that most of my points came from legal goods. I didn’t lie very often.” 

“Shrewdest sheriff Nottingham’s ever seen,” Claude adds. “Oh well. Play again?” 

Dimitri smiles. “Sure. But this will have to be the last round; it’s getting late, and I’m meant to work out with Dedue in the morning.” He turns to Hilda and – ugh, he looks like a ray of damn sunshine. “Will you be playing again too, Hilda?” 

She doesn’t want to. She really doesn’t. But Dimitri is so earnest, and he really seems to want her to, so how is she supposed to say no? 

She sighs. “Fine, but only if you promise to cut me some good deals when you’re the sheriff.” 

Dimitri laughs, and Hilda thinks that maybe another round won’t be so bad after all. 

* * *

Life continues on as usual, but slowly, Dimitri becomes more of a fixture in Hilda’s life. He regularly attends game nights, Hilda regularly attends movie nights, and they seem to run into each other more often even outside of group hangouts now. Sylvain invites Dimitri along when he hangs out with Claude and he knows Hilda’s home, and sometimes Claude brings Hilda over to Sylvain’s place just because he feels like it. It’s a somewhat transparent attempt to get Hilda and Dimitri to distract each other so they can go make out or something – Hilda doesn’t really care about the finer details – but she doesn’t really mind. 

After all, it’s not like Dimitri is unpleasant to be around. And he’s not bad to look at, either. And he’s kind, and attentive, and if he just cleaned up a little and pulled his hair back…

Whatever she’s thinking of Dimitri promptly vacates her mind when she sees the man himself standing outside her apartment door. He’s got a duffel bag in one hand and his phone in the other, which he taps a message on with one thumb (Goddess, his hands are big). It's apparently a message to the group chat for their private (Felix-free) movie night, as Hilda hears her phone ping in her coat pocket the moment Dimitri's phone screen clicks off. 

The sound gets Dimitri's attention, and he turns his head to regard Hilda as she approaches. He smiles and puts his phone away; Hilda jogs up to the door. 

"Dimitri!" she greets, putting one armful of shopping bags down so she can dig her keys out of her purse. "You're early! I hope you weren't waiting long…"

"Oh, no, I only just got here." Dimitri offers his hand; Hilda passes off the other armful of bags to him. He doesn't seem surprised by their weight at all. "I finished at the gym a little later than expected, and so I thought to come here right after."

That would explain the duffel bag. "Didn't want to go drop your stuff off at home first?" 

He shakes his head. "If I had, I would have been late. I would have hated making the three of you wait for me."

"Aw, you're sweet." Hilda smiles as she finally finds her keys – all the way at the bottom of the bag, of course; why did she bring such a big bag? – and pulls them out with a small 'ha!' of triumph. She shoves the proper one into the door, and as she turns it, says, "No Sylvain?" 

"He does not usually join me at the gym on Saturdays," Dimitri says. "And I think he said he had errands to run today."

"Huh. Wonder what kind of errands a guy like him would have to run," Hilda muses. The lock clicks open and she turns the handle, nudging the door open while she ducks to pick up the bags on the floor. Dimitri keeps hold of the others and follows into the apartment behind her, letting the heavy door fall shut behind him. 

"Claude, I'm home!" she calls, making her way to the kitchen island and dropping her bags atop it. "And Dimitri's here too! Ugh, where is he?" 

Claude hadn't mentioned any plans to go out today. Not that he had to, but if he was going to be out this close to movie time, the least he could do was _text_ her—

_Bang!_

Hilda drops the last bag on the floor. What was—?

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Alarmed by the sound, Hilda steps into the hall. Dimitri falls in step behind her like a shadow, eerily silent despite his size. 

"Hilda, what…"

_"Ah! Ah, yeah, there—"_

In a truly impressive feat of speed and strength, Hilda spins on her heel and shoves at Dimitri's chest, pushing him backward through the hallway and back to the door. 

"Coffee!" she exclaims, panic rising in her voice. "There's a café just around the block! Why don't we go check it out? I could reeeeally go for a latte or something right about now, couldn't you?!" 

"I – I suppose, yes, but—" 

"Great!" They manage to reach the door, Dimitri shuffling awkwardly towards it while Hilda continues to bodily force him out of her apartment. Confusion swims in his one good eye, and Hilda doesn't have time to contemplate how cute he looks right now, because all she cares about is getting out of here _right now._

She slams the door behind her when she leaves. She is going to _kill_ Claude. 

* * *

The café is only a short walk away. There’s no real need for Hilda to hold Dimitri’s hand the whole way there, but she’s in such a rush to get him away from her apartment and her stupid horny roommate that she barely even notices she’s doing it until she pushes the door open with her off hand. 

She lets go, then, and plays it off like it’s nothing, marching right up to the counter to order. Dimitri falters behind her, but follows after a moment’s hesitation; he looks up at the menu, and Hilda calls for the barista. When he comes out, Hilda orders, and Dimitri foots the bill with little protest after she bats her lashes at him.

Their drinks come quickly: an extra-sweet butterscotch latte for Hilda, and a chamomile tea for Dimitri. Hilda stirs hers vigorously to vent some of her agitation; Dimitri watches with a raised brow as foam sloshes over the rim of the cup. 

“Are… are you alright, Hilda?” 

She puts the spoon down with a sigh and lifts the cup to her lips. Hilda sips at it daintily, and the hot coffee and melted syrup do wonders to soothe her anger. By the time she’s had enough, she no longer feels the need to slam the cup down, and instead she sets it back on its saucer gently.

Hilda licks the remnants of foam off her lips, oblivious to the way Dimitri’s eye follows the movement, and relaxes back in her seat. “Yeah, I am now,” she says at last, and with that admission all the leftover tension melts away. “I just have some regrets, that’s all.” 

“Regrets?” 

Hilda laughs. “Claude and Sylvain,” she clarifies. “I’m the one who set them up in the first place. If I’d known we’d have to put up with so much of their stupid couple nonsense, I wouldn’t have bothered.” 

“...Ah. I see.” 

They sit in awkward silence a moment, Hilda sipping her latte and Dimitri staring down at his teacup. He's the first to break said silence when a small, wistful sigh escapes through his nose. "I must admit, while they can be… a bit much, it is kind of nice." A tiny smile pulls at his lips, and he reaches for his tea. "I'm happy for them."

"...Me too," Hilda admits. "Even if they’re a pain to deal with."

That gets Dimitri to laugh. "I don’t think I’ve ever met a couple quite as, ah… in sync as they are." 

"Ugh, no kidding!" That’s a nice way to put it. Hilda leans back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as a bright, toothy smile stretches across her face. "Claude is bad enough on his own, but now I have to deal with _two_ smug bastards who are too smart for their own good? I don't deserve this."

Again, Dimitri laughs, louder this time. He laughs with his whole chest, head tilting back with the force of it, and Hilda finds herself a little enamoured with it. Dimitri's never laughed like _that_ before – at least not while she's been around. 

She kind of likes it. 

"Perhaps it is for the best that we escaped while we did," Dimitri says. "Claude chose a thriller tonight, didn't he?" 

"Oh, goddess, yeah." Hilda presses a hand to her head, covering her eyes and letting her head fall back over the top of the chair. "They're gonna talk through the whole thing! Like, yeah, we get it, Claude, you're smarter than all of us and you already figured out the twist, let us enjoy the movie in peace!" 

"And Sylvain pointing out all the details in set design and dialogue choices, just to add to Claude's theories…"

"And when they come to different conclusions about what's going to happen next and argue about it while the movie is still going! They're the worst!" 

Dimitri laughs again, and that gets Hilda laughing, too. She thinks of all the movies Claude and Sylvain have accidentally spoiled for them, and of all the game nights that had devolved into arguing about rules and making up totally new ones, until nobody knew what card game they were meant to be playing or which team anyone was on. It's nice that Claude has found someone to give him a taste of his own medicine – and even nicer that through it all, through the derailed hangouts and the terrible takeout and their horrible tendency to cause trouble wherever they go, Dimitri is just as steadfast in his support and affection toward the two of them as Hilda is. 

Their laughter tapers off. Dimitri quenches his parched throat with a sip of tea before setting the cup back down on its saucer. "I used to wonder if Sylvain would ever find someone," he admits. "Someone… long-term, I mean. And I must say that I’m glad it was Claude. The two of them truly do seem happy together, and in the end, is that not what we all want?" 

He gazes down at his teacup, eye fixed on the surface as the liquid settles and flattens. There's something sad in his smile now, something longing. Something that feels private, that makes Hilda feel like she shouldn't be looking. 

She yearns to know what he's thinking, but knowing the answer will dampen the already sobering mood, she changes the subject instead.

"So,” she starts, “About the gym…"

* * *

They end up staying in the café for another two hours. It closes before they end up leaving, and even then, they only go because the barista asks them to. It’s a shame; Hilda feels as though she could have stayed there chatting with Dimitri for hours. 

But they continue chatting all the way home, completely wrapped up in each other’s presence. It’s only when Hilda unlocks the door to her apartment and Claude and Sylvain both bolt upright from their spot on the couch and demand to know where they’d been does Hilda realize that she and Dimitri have completely missed movie night. 

And somehow, that just makes the impromptu coffee date all the better. 

* * *

They meet up for coffee somewhat regularly after that. More often than not, Dimitri texts Hilda first, usually to ask her if she’d like to join him for a post-workout coffee at the café near his gym, even though he himself never seems to order coffee.

She asks him about it once, and he simply shrugs and tells her that chamomile is meant to be calming. It’s not much of an answer, but it does get Hilda’s mind racing: if he still has so much energy after a workout that he needs chamomile tea to calm down, just how much stamina does he have?

That is a question she intends to find an answer to. And, blessedly, Claude presents her with the perfect opportunity just a day later.

“We’re going to Almyra next week.” 

Hilda turns her phone so she can see Claude behind her in the selfie camera. He’s half-obscured by her snapchat filter, so she can’t quite see him judging her for the faces she’s making into the camera, even if she can totally feel it. She ignores his imagined disapproval and makes another kissy face. “Next week?” 

“Yeah.” Claude leans forward over the kitchen island, his arms folded along the edge. 

“That’s sudden. Unless this was a decision you made ages ago and just forgot to tell me?” Hilda snaps a picture. Bright, toothy smile and a sweet, flirtatious wink. She adds it to her story with the caption _‘feelin cute 2day!’_ , and lowers her phone to look at Claude over the back of the couch. 

“Nah, it was a last-minute thing,” he assures her. “Mom’s birthday is coming up and she begged me to come see her, so I caved in and said yes. Sylvain’s coming too.” 

“Ooh!” Hilda squeals, clasping her hands together and giggling. “He’s gonna meet the parents! You must be pretty serious about him if you’re showing him off to Tiana, of all people!” 

“Oh, come on.” Claude looks away, trying to hide his bashful grin, but he’s no match for the eagle-eyed and gossip-hungry Hilda Valentine Goneril. “My mom’s not that bad.” 

“She’s terrifying!” Hilda grabs a pillow and throws it at him, laughing when the force of the impact nearly knocks him over. “Even Holst is afraid of her, you know! So, wait, let me guess: that’s how you got the flight tickets so last-minute, right? She bullied the airline into giving them to her!” 

Claude scoffs and bends down to pick up the pillow. He throws it back, and despite Hilda trying to dodge out of the way, it somehow hits her square in the face. Stupid Claude and his stupid perfect aim. “She didn’t say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. But anyway, that’s beside the point; you gonna be okay on your own for a few days?” 

“Oh, Claude.” Hilda rolls her eyes at him. “I think you’re overestimating just how much trouble I can get in without you.” 

“And I think I’m really not,” Claude retorts with a grin. “But I’ll take that as a yes. We leave on the 30th. Just don’t make too much of a mess with Dimitri while I’m gone.”

“Hey! I’m not – _what is that supposed to mean_?!”

But Claude is already halfway to his room, laughing up a storm. He shuts the door behind him, leaving Hilda to bury her face in her hands and wonder if she was really that obvious.

* * *

The 30th rolls around too soon, but not soon enough. Sylvain stays over the night before, and for once the two of them don’t keep Hilda up into the middle of the night. They do wake her, however, when they drag themselves out of bed and roll their luggage out the door at five in the morning. She gets up to see them off, wishes them a safe trip, then slumps back into bed and sleeps in until noon. 

When she wakes up the second time, she feels refreshed, well-rested, and excited. Five whole days alone in her apartment, no nosy roommate to bother her and no noisy boyfriend to keep her up! It’s pretty much heaven on earth, and Hilda fully intends to make the most of her alone time. 

Which means, just as Claude predicted, she promptly texts Dimitri. 

**Hilda** (12:43pm)  
_hey! Heard u were on ur own for a few days, want some company?_

She hits _send_ and tosses her phone onto the bedside table while she gets up and gets dressed. She doesn’t expect a speedy response, since she remembers this is typically around the time Dimitri would be finishing up at the gym, but she finds a notification waiting for her anyway, her heart fluttering when she sees the little light flashing in the corner of her phone. 

She nearly drops it in her rush to check the notification, and then fumbles it again when she realizes the notification is, in fact, a text from Dimitri. A smile breaks out over her face as she opens the message and reads: 

**Dimitri** (12:45pm)  
_Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Hilda. .)_

And oh, goddess, even his _texts_ are cute, with his punctuation and his use of capitalization (because seriously, who does that anymore?). And is that… Hilda squints. Does the little smiley only have one eye? 

She throws her phone on the bed and clutches her heart, crying, “Goddess take me, this man is just too much!” to the ceiling, because she’s alone now and can do that without Claude bugging her about it. But for all her theatrics, Hilda isn’t exaggerating: she really _can’t_ handle how adorable Dimitri is. 

She sits on the edge of the bed and retrieves her phone to send him another text: 

**Hilda** (12:48pm)  
_great! When are u free?_

His response comes a moment later.

**Dimitri** (12:49pm)  
_This evening. I have some work I need to finish, but it should not take me past 5:00 to finish. If you would like to come over, I planned on ordering in._

**Hilda** (12:50pm)  
_As long as its from that duscur place, count me in!_ _ヽ_ _(o_ _＾_ _▽_ _＾_ _o)_ _ノ_

 **Dimitri** (12:50pm)  
_Very well. I will see you tonight._

 **Dimitri** (12:50pm)  
_.)_

Hilda smiles down at her phone and types in a response, her perfectly-manicured nails tap-tap-tapping the screen rhythmically. She pauses, though, right before she hits send, and erases the message, suddenly too shy to send it. 

_It’s a date_. 

* * *

She arrives at Dimitri’s house fashionably late. The food is already set out on the table in little containers, and Hilda frantically kicks off her boots and runs over to meet Dimitri on the couch. 

“Sorry, sorry!” she says, and for once, she actually does feel guilty. “I lost track of time; I didn’t mean to keep you waiting!” 

“It’s alright,” Dimitri reassures her, smiling serenely over his plateful of food. “It only just got here a minute ago, so everything is still warm.” 

“Oh, good. I’d hate to have kept you waiting so long everything went cold…” 

Dimitri shakes his head. “It makes no difference to me. Food is food, is it not?”

“Duscur food isn’t as good when it’s cold.” 

“It’s not?” 

Hilda raises a brow. That’s… a weird thing to say. “Um, no?”

Dimitri hums. “But the texture changes when it’s cold.” 

“Yeah, to get all gross and tough and clotted! Nothing is as good cold as it is hot.”

Dimitri cocks his head to the side. “Sylvain says pizza is better cold.” 

“Well, Sylvain is a heathen.”

Dimitri laughs just as he had back at the café on that first impromptu coffee date, full and bright and amused. Hilda is quickly beginning to think that may be her favourite sound in the world. “He can be at times, yes, but he’s a good man.” 

“Tell that to my sleep schedule.” 

Again, Dimitri laughs, but he cuts himself off when his phone lights up on the table. It vibrates, and the name _Ingrid_ pops up on it in large, white letters. Dimitri reaches for it. “Excuse me a moment,” he says before setting his plate on the coffee table and getting up to answer his phone.

He’s not gone long; within two minutes, he’s back at the table, phone back in his pocket. 

“Sorry about that,” he says. “That was Ingrid. She just informed me she would be a little bit later coming over than expected.” 

Something freezes in the pit of Hilda’s stomach. She forces herself to swallow the mouthful of rice she’d just eaten and tries to put on a cheery smile, but she’s acutely aware of how fake it feels. “Oh. I didn’t realize she would be joining us tonight.” 

Dimitri blinks. “Ah. I suppose I forgot to tell you, then. Since Sylvain is gone for the next few days, Ingrid will be spending the nights here until he returns.” 

Suddenly, Hilda’s appetite vanishes. She sets her plate on the table and folds her hands in her now-unoccupied lap. “Why her?”

Dimitri hums. “I thought about asking Dedue first, but he is not a fan of the city,” he answers. “He spends so much of his time split between here and his home in Duscur, and he is there now. I did not wish to take him from his preferred home for any amount of time longer than necessary.” 

Hilda frowns, annoyed at how sweet his reasoning is, but more annoyed at herself for being angry he’s unknowingly cockblocking her. “No, I mean… why have anyone over at all?”

Dimitri shifts uncomfortably, the tips of his ears turning red. He averts his gaze from Hilda and scratches idly at his cheek, clearly uncomfortable. “I… I do not like being alone at night,” he admits quietly. “It is fine when Sylvain spends a night or two at Claude’s, but when he’s out of town…”

And then something clicks for Hilda. She blinks, the pieces all falling into place. “So that’s why you live with him,” she says. There’s a reason the two of them live together even though Dimitri alone has more money than Hilda can even fathom, and Sylvain isn’t far behind. Neither of them need a roommate to help pay rent – in fact, Hilda isn’t even sure if they _pay_ rent, or if one of them just owns this house outright – so it had always puzzled her why they decided to live together when they easily could have lived apart. 

“Yes,” Dimitri admits. “Originally, Dedue and I were going to move in together for the same reason, but as I have said, he prefers Duscur. Sylvain was kind enough to offer instead, since as I recall, he has… problems with nightmares as well.” 

Huh. That’s news to her. Hilda suddenly feels guilty for prying into something so personal (and for assuming all the times Sylvain and Claude kept her up at night, it was just sex), but she can’t deny the surge of relief she feels at knowing that Dimitri invited Ingrid over for his own peace of mind, rather than any alternative. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.” 

Dimitri shakes his head. “There is nothing to apologize for, Hilda. You didn’t know because I never told you. And of course you are more than welcome to stay the night as well. We have more than one guest room.” 

Guest room. That’s not really where Hilda wants to sleep, but she decides not to say as much. Ingrid will be here soon, so now isn’t exactly the best time to flirt. Instead, she satisfies herself with forcing Dimitri to watch trashy reality TV with her and to gorge on the delicious Duscur food he’s ordered. 

She’s in a much better mood when Ingrid arrives. They even get into a fun little argument over which bride was the most over-the-top crazy in their marathon of shitty reality wedding shows, which Dimitri ends up solving by siding with Hilda.

By the end of the night, Hilda is too full and sleepy to head home on her own. She ends up sleeping in the guest room after all, content to know that Dimitri will sleep better knowing there’s someone there to take care of him. 

She’s happy she can be one of those people for him.

* * *

Hilda does not try to sleep with Dimitri after that. 

She _does_ stay the night for three out of the five days Claude and Sylvain are gone, however, because she truly does want to be there for Dimitri. It’s a pain, staying in an unfamiliar bed with nobody to cuddle, but she perseveres just to give Dimitri some peace of mind.

The morning Claude and Sylvain are set to come back, Hilda packs her bag and leaves Dimitri’s guest room for the last time.

“I really can’t thank you enough for staying the night,” Dimitri tells her as she puts her shoes on at the door. A shy smile illuminates his face as he watches her, and Hilda looks away, unable to meet his gaze without blushing. They stand in the doorway, and a sudden gust of chilly morning breeze makes Hilda shiver – but Dimitri steps close, his body heat helping to warm her. 

“Don’t mention it,” she says, trying not to think about how close he is and how easy it would be to just lean into his firm, strong chest. “Anything for a friend.” 

“Of course.” 

He looks down at her. She looks up at him. A tense silence falls over them; Hilda awkwardly shifts her bag over her shoulder, and Dimitri wets his lips nervously. For a moment, Hilda wonders if they’re on the precipice of something: it feels like something is about to happen, like any minute now one of them will snap and move in to close the gap…

But nothing of the sort happens. Instead, they jump apart when the door to Ingrid’s guest room opens and she shuffles out in her pajamas. Hilda hadn’t even realized how close she and Dimitri had gotten until that very moment, their lips a mere inch apart.

“Right. Um…” She smooths down the front of her skirt, despite it not being rumpled at all. “I should get going.” 

“Yes. I mean – you are welcome to stay if you like, but—” 

“No, that’s okay, I have some, um, stuff to do back home…” 

“Oh, Hilda, are you leaving?” Ingrid’s voice floats out from behind Dimitri, saving them from any more awkward stuttering. She appears at the mouth of the hallway, a smile on her face. “It was nice hanging out with you this week. We should do it again sometime.” 

“Oh, um – yeah!” Hilda forces a cheery smile onto her face. She really does appreciate the offer, and she has taken quite a liking to Ingrid in the past few days, but she’s still frazzled from the residual tension of her and Dimitri’s awkward goodbye. “That would be lovely.”

“Dorothea is throwing a party next week,” Ingrid says. “It’s a surprise party for Edelgard. You’re more than welcome to come if you’d like.” 

“Are you going?” Hilda blurts out, looking up at Dimitri. He jerks a little bit, apparently having gotten lost in his thoughts for a moment.

“Oh – erm, yes,” he says. “Edelgard is my stepsister, so I am obligated to be there.” 

He doesn’t sound like he’s looking forward to it, but Hilda decides not to bring that up. “Then I’m in.” 

“Great. We’ll see you next week then, Hilda!” 

“Yes,” Dimitri says, and Hilda swears she sees relief flood his eye. “See you next week.” 

* * *

Dorothea’s party is loud and annoying. 

It only takes about an hour for Hilda to start wondering just what the hell she’s doing here. It’s a decent excuse to dress up, she supposes, and Dimitri said he’d be here, but she has yet to see him even once the whole night. It isn’t that he hasn’t arrived yet, either: Hilda and Claude arrived fashionably late, as usual, and they’d found Sylvain in the small crowd right away, chatting up Bernadetta. Dimitri _had_ to be here; Sylvain wouldn’t have come alone. 

But he’s nowhere to be found, and the rest of the company is… questionable. It’s always a pleasure to see Caspar, even when he’s shouting at the top of his lungs, and Ferdinand has basically waited on her hand and foot since her arrival, but everyone else… Well, Hilda had never particularly gotten along with Edelgard or her group of friends, even on the rare occasion they’d crossed paths. 

Dorothea thanks her for showing up anyway, and the two of them chat amicably until Ingrid shows up and steals Dorothea’s attention away. Hilda takes that as an excuse to fetch herself a drink (Ferdinand is otherwise occupied) and look for Dimitri again. 

She completes two more rounds around the house, both upstairs and down, and still Dimitri is nowhere to be found. Plenty of other people are, though – even more than before. If things had been loud before, they’re even louder now, and while Hilda would normally enjoy a lively party like this, right now it’s just making her angry. She needs another drink, and a long, quiet break. 

And that’s when it hits her.

She knows where Dimitri is.

* * *

" I thought I might find you out here."

Dimitri turns. Hilda smiles fondly at him from the doorway, two hot chocolates in hand, both piled high with fluffy white whipped cream. For a moment, he looks surprised, but his expression softens into a smile and he steps forward to relieve her of one of the mugs. "My apologies. Were you looking for me?" 

"Not really."

Dimitri chuckles, a quiet noise low in his throat. He steps back to allow her out onto the balcony. The cold seeps through Hilda's coat immediately. She shivers. Thank the goddess her hot chocolate is still fresh. 

"Then what are you doing out here?" Dimitri asks, though it sounds like he already knows. He retakes his place at the balcony rail, but instead of leaning over it as he had been mere moments ago, he leans against it, watching Hilda with his lone eye. Another shiver wracks her body, though this one is warm. Pleasant. 

"Oh, you know," Hilda says, shrugging dismissively. "I just thought I could use some fresh air. It's soooo loud in there, you know?" 

"Of course," Dimitri says with a nod. He's smiling in a way that tells Hilda he doesn't believe her, so it's no surprise when he continues, "And I'm sure it's not at all because you wanted something from me."

"Excuse me! And here I was nice enough to bring you a hot chocolate." 

"Ah, so you _were_ looking for me."

Hilda smacks his arm. Dimitri laughs and bows his head. "Sorry. I simply could not resist. Thank you, Hilda, that was very thoughtful."

She nods. "I have my moments. Althooough…"

Dimitri sighs fondly. "Although?" 

"There might be one teensy, tiny little favour you could do for me…" 

When Dimitri laughs this time, it's a short, quick thing – a bark of laughter, a burst of joy – and it leaves Hilda flushed and flustered. She likes it when he laughs fully and heartily, but she likes it when he laughs like this, too. She just... likes it when he sounds happy. 

She likes it when he _is_ happy. 

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, though the remnants of his smile still have full hold of his expression. "Very well, then. What can I do for you, Hilda?" 

Hilda looks down at her mug, held loosely between her hands. The pile of whipped cream on top has started to droop, melting into the hot chocolate. It's still warm, but that heat is fading fast. "Actually, it's more like what I can do for you."

She looks up again, a small smile on her face. "I know you don't really care for big crowds and loud music very much, and things are starting to get pretty rowdy in there. I’m pretty sure Dorothea was about to bring out the karaoke machine when I came out here."

"Ah. And I really am a terrible singer..."

Hilda laughs. "Anyway, since it doesn't seem like things are dying down anytime soon, I thought I'd offer you an out." She steps closer, right into his personal space, and bats her eyelashes at him. "Take me home, Dimitri?" 

And this time, it is his turn to blush. It starts slowly, his cheeks flushing the cutest shade of pink – and then it spreads, darkening over the rest of his face and colouring him red from the tips of his ears to the top of his neck. 

Hilda smiles. Evidently, the meaning of her words has registered.

"I…"

"Please?" Hilda pouts at him, putting on her best, brightest, most brilliantly adorable puppy dog eyes for him. And of course, Dimitri relents, swallowing thickly and nodding jerkily. 

"Of course. As you wish."

* * *

They finish their hot chocolates in comfortable silence. Hilda giggles when Dimitri gets whipped cream on his nose, and he shakes his head fondly when she tries to worm her way under his open coat. Still, he lets her, and his body heat does wonders to fight off the chill, as usual. 

When it's time to leave, Hilda takes Dimitri's hand and leads him through the house. She catches Claude's eye and tells Dimitri she'll be out in a second, because she knows that look on Claude's face. 

He's got something to say. 

He makes his way over, weaving between bodies like a snake among trees. Just as sinister as one, too, Hilda is sure.

"So," Claude says, lips curving up into a smirk. "You and Dimitri at last, huh?" 

"It's not like that," Hilda insists, though she knows Claude can see right through her. "I'm just tired. Parties like this really wear me out, you know."

"Uh-huh. Sure they do, miss social butterfly."

"That's _delicate flower_ ," she corrects. "And I really am just _exhausted._ Dimitri is being a gentleman and driving me home."

"If you say so," Claude says with a shrug. "So, does that mean I'm staying with Sylvain tonight?" 

"If you don't mind!" 

Claude laughs and rolls his eyes. "You know I don't. Anything for my favourite _delicate flower_."

"I knew you'd understand." Hilda grins and pecks him on the cheek. "You be nice to poor Sylvie! He's going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow."

"You're telling me." Claude looks over at Sylvain across the room, downing yet another shot before he takes his turn at the dart board. It's a disaster waiting to happen, but Claude seems to be in no rush to avert the oncoming crisis. He shakes his head fondly and turns back to Hilda, giving her a quick wink and a sly grin. "You have fun, too. And be safe!"

"Oh, shut up, you."

* * *

The car ride home is silent. Hilda spends most of it with her hand on Dimitri's knee, watching him watch the road. He makes no move to push her off, and at one light, he even reaches down to briefly lace their fingers together. 

They pull to a stop in front of Hilda's apartment complex. Dimitri hesitates; for a moment, he looks as though he's about to bid Hilda a good night then and there, but she stops him before he gets the chance. 

"Walk me to the door?" 

He does. She takes his hand and leads him down the path. They stop at the door just long enough for Hilda to fetch her key card, and then Dimitri tries to pull away. 

She tugs him back.

Dimitri allows her to pull him close. He's so strong, so tall, it's a miracle she can stop him moving at all. But he seems just as reluctant to leave as Hilda is to let him go, and so when she takes his hand, he lets her.

And when she stands on her tiptoes to kiss him, he meets her halfway. 

The first thing Hilda realizes about kissing Dimitri is that his lips are surprisingly soft. Soft and warm and still a touch sticky from the hot chocolate. They're every bit as sweet, too, moving gently with hers and slotting over them perfectly. Dimitri kisses like he's shy, like he's afraid of hurting Hilda – like he wants more, but is afraid to take it. 

She opens her mouth and kisses him again, more insistently this time. Dimitri meets her again, and again, and again, every press of their lips together slow and soft and perfect. Hilda thinks she could kiss him forever. 

But she doesn't. It's cold, and it's late, and she wants to be home. 

With Dimitri. 

"Please don't go," she whispers against his lips. Hilda lowers herself back onto her feet and looks up at him, eyes darting from her gloss shining on his lips to his bright blue eye, almost blacked out from how wide his pupil is. 

Dimitri exhales slowly. He licks his lips. "I… do not wish to," he says. "But Sylvain…"

"Claude will take care of him," Hilda insists. "He hasn't been drinking, so he'll make sure Sylvain gets home safe. Please, Dimitri, I…"

He smiles, and pulls Hilda into his arms. She feels him lean down and bury his nose in her hair, and she’s certain he must be smiling. "Very well," he says. "I trust you."

* * *

They’re barely two steps into the apartment when Hilda kisses Dimitri again, pressing herself up against him while he encircles her waist with his big, strong, sturdy hands. She melts into his touch, going limp enough that he’s the only thing keeping her upright, and it sets a fire in her knowing that he’s being so delicate with her despite his obvious strength. 

They break apart for air, and Hilda goes in again. Dimitri meets her halfway, and when she steps back to pull him into the hall, he follows, every step in perfect sync. They don’t even falter when Hilda reaches behind herself to open her bedroom door; Dimitri just keeps kissing her, long and slow and deep, and lets her drag him inside when she’s ready. 

It’s only once they’re in the room that Hilda pulls away. She leaves Dimitri to watch her hungrily as she closes the door behind them and turns the light on. He’s flushed the loveliest shade of red, the colour darkening his skin in uneven splotches from his jaw to his cheeks, and his chest rises and falls sharply with each shallow pant of breath.

She smiles and shrugs off her jacket. Dimitri watches her, his eye tracing over her arms, her neckline, her throat. Hilda’s heart pounds in her chest at the sight of him, his pupil blown wide as he drinks in her figure. He’s so attentive, even without her asking, and for that, he deserves a reward.

She lifts her shirt up over her head and drops it in a heap on the floor next to her. Dimitri’s stare grows ever more intense, and he steps forward, possibly without realizing. Hilda meets him, nearly prancing into his arms: a doe to a lion, ready to be devoured. 

And devour her he does: his kisses grow messier and hungrier, each one more intense than the last. Hilda can’t help but moan into his mouth, high-pitched and needy; she pushes him back toward the bed, heat pooling between her legs as he sits down on its edge and she crawls into his lap. 

“Dimitri…” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as his hands slide down her back and curl around her hips. She presses close to him again, the lace of her bra digging into her breasts as she pushes them against his chest. He practically growls in response, his nails biting deliciously into her skin. 

They kiss again, slower this time. Hilda can feel the heat radiating off him, and for once she thinks she probably must not be much better: every inch of her feels like it’s on fire. She wants out of her clothes, wants him out of his, wants to see and feel and touch every single piece of him she can get her hands on. 

She brings a hand up to his jaw. Dimitri makes a noise. Hilda pulls back and smiles; she drags her hand upwards, the tips of her fingers crawling over his cheekbone to touch the edge of his eyepatch…

And he catches her wrist. 

“Dimitri…?” 

He blinks, as though trying to clear his vision. His grip on her wrist doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a relief when he lets go. “I… I am sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean…” 

“No, it’s okay.” Hilda’s voice is soft. She lowers her hand to his shoulder, thumb rubbing gentle circles against it. “I shouldn’t have…” 

He shakes his head. Wordlessly, Dimitri reaches behind his head to slide the eyepatch off. His eye is closed when it comes away, and only opens halfway when he lets go and brings his hand back to Hilda’s waist. 

She reaches out, caresses him, slides the tips of her fingers over the edges of the scars marring his lower eyelid. “Oh, Dimitri…” she whispers, heartbroken at the state of him. Logically, she knows the scars are old, left years ago. They don’t hurt him anymore, but that doesn’t change how _painful_ they look.

Dimitri’s eyes turn to Hilda’s face: one bright, piercing blue and the other a foggy, milky grey. He can’t see her through that eye, she’s sure, but she can’t help but wonder what his world must look like through it. 

“It’s not pretty, is it?” he says, as though reading her mind. Hilda bites her lip; she doesn’t want to agree with him, but what else is there to say? Luckily, he spares her the embarrassment of having to come up with something. “It happened nearly five years ago now. My family and I were meant to be going on vacation – funny, I can’t even remember where, now.”

Dimitri laughs pitifully; Hilda tucks some hair behind his ear. He continues, a wistful grimace twisting his lips: “The plane we were on crashed. My father and stepmother perished, but Edelgard and I survived. I am lucky to have only lost an eye; Edelgard had it far worse. I thought for a time I would lose her, too.” 

“But you didn’t,” Hilda whispers. 

“I didn’t,” Dimitri agrees. 

He waits. Hilda thinks maybe she should say something else, but she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she wraps her arms around Dimitri, pulling him close and embracing him. 

“...I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers eventually, her voice cracking when she feels Dimitri hug her back.

“I’m glad, too.”

And so they stay there a while longer, just holding each other. Hilda blinks back tears, and Dimitri buries his face in her shoulder. All thoughts of sex have fled Hilda’s mind, and now all she wants is to stay here with him, like this, forever. To keep him here and never let him go. 

But they have to let go eventually. It’s getting late – early, a glance at her alarm clock tells her – so she pulls away from him, stands up, and strips down to change into her pajamas. 

(“Don’t look,” she tells him as she turns away from him and unfastens her bra. “I want the first time you see me naked to be because _you_ took my clothes off.”)

She ends up finding a spare pair of sweatpants for Dimitri in Claude’s room – too big for Claude himself, so they’re probably Sylvain’s – and she does her best not to look while he changes into them. And when they crawl into bed together, a tangle of limbs and cozy, comfortable warmth, Hilda thinks about how happy she is that she hadn’t ended up sleeping with Dimitri while Sylvain and Claude were away. Something about this moment is just… too perfect, too magical, too intimate. If they had gotten together then, they may not be sharing this moment now. 

And she can’t imagine giving this up for anything in the world.

* * *

The next morning, Claude comes home with bags under his eyes and hickeys all over his neck. 

“Someone had fun last night,” Hilda teases, giving him a cheeky little grin over the rim of her mug. “If you look like _that_ , I hate to think how Sylvain must be suffering.” 

“Actually, he’s fine,” Claude says. There’s a tinge of bitterness to his voice even despite his smile. “No hangover, nothing. He made it to work just fine.” 

“Wait, what?” Hilda puts the mug down. “He drank that much when he had to work in the morning?! How did he get away with that?” 

Claude shrugs. “He’s good at hiding things.” 

“Something you two have in common.” 

“Hey, now, no need for that. And while I appreciate you checking up on me, we both know it’s because you’re hoping I’ve forgotten about _your_ little affair last night.” Claude grins and fixes Hilda with the most infuriatingly knowing look. “Where _is_ Dimitri, anyway?” 

“I told you, it wasn’t like that!” Hilda protests, even though they both know it was totally like that. At least at first. “We didn’t – ugh. I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you; you’re not going to believe me anyway.” 

“I might.”

“Fine,” Hilda starts. “We—” 

But she’s cut off by another voice coming from down the hall. 

“Hilda?” 

She turns around just in time to watch Dimitri emerge from around the corner, dripping wet and completely naked but for his eyepatch and a towel wrapped around his waist. 

And he’s _gorgeous_. Hilda can’t help but gawk at him – his arms, his chest, his abs, his thighs… the way tiny rivulets of water dip between the valleys of his muscles and the lines of his iliac furrow, how tiny beads of condensation catch in the pale dusting of hair leading from his navel down past the edge of the towel...

“Oh! Pardon me, I didn’t realize you were home, Claude,” Dimitri says, snapping Hilda right out of her reverie. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I, ah, simply wanted to know what I should do with…” He awkwardly holds up the sweatpants Hilda had scrounged up for him last night.

“Are those mine?” Claude asks. Hilda is pleased to hear the strain in his voice. 

“Sylvain’s, actually, I think,” she says. “Just put them in my laundry, Dimitri, I’ll take care of them later!” 

Dimitri nods. “Of course.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot and works his mouth as if he wants to say something, but seems to change his mind at the last second. He turns on his heel and shuffles out of the room, the tips of his ears bright red. 

They wait until they hear the bathroom door closing. Once it’s safe to speak again, Claude immediately whirls around on Hilda. 

“Holy shit.” 

“I know.” 

“He’s – Hilda, he’s _ripped_.” 

“I know!” 

“And you’re telling me you didn’t hit it?” 

Hilda buries her face in her hands. “I tried,” she whines. “I tried so hard, Claude.” 

Claude places a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Ah, well,” he says. “Maybe next time.”

* * *

After that, things change between Hilda and Dimitri. They spend every waking moment together, and even some sleeping moments, too. They kiss, and they hold hands, and they talk long into the night, texting and calling when they aren’t literally joined at the hip.

They do, eventually, sleep together. Their first time is magical, almost surreal, and it puts everyone else Hilda has ever slept with to shame. Dimitri is caring, enthusiastic, and attentive. And even more than that, Hilda _likes_ him. More than she’s willing to admit, even to herself. 

But she does admit it to him, one quiet night when she’s over at his place, curled up in bed with him, her head on his chest and his hands running over her bare skin.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair, so quiet she almost doesn’t hear him. But when she looks up to check if she had just imagined it, he’s smiling at her, his blue eye and his white eye both shining with unshed tears. 

She traces his cheek and catches a tear with the side of her finger. “I know,” she whispers back. “I love you, too.” 

* * *

Months pass. Things don’t change much, except that Hilda spends more and more time at Dimitri’s place. It’s nice, and it’s big, and Dimitri likes the company. Claude and Sylvain don’t seem to mind too much, and at least when Hilda spends the night with Dimitri, she isn’t kept up half the night listening to them fuck. 

She’s still kept up half the night, but at least now it’s because _she’s_ getting some. 

She slinks home from one of her many, many sleepovers with Dimitri in the early hours of one cloudy Sunday morning. Dimitri had plans to meet Dedue at the gym today, and there was no way she was staying in that big empty house all by herself, so she’d just decided to go home. There’s no chance of disturbing or waking Claude and Sylvain at this hour, anyway. They were probably up all night doing… whatever it is they do when they have the apartment to themselves. Hilda makes a point not to ask. 

Still, despite knowing she’s safe, she ends up pushing the door open as quietly as she can and shutting it softly behind her. She even stifles a yawn while she carefully slips her shoes off and sets them on the rack, and silently laments how early it is. _Nobody_ should be up at this hour, least of all on a Sunday. 

And yet…

The aroma of coffee wafts over to her from the other end of the hall. She sniffs the air, soothed by the scent, and follows it to the kitchen, where Sylvain is rinsing out his favourite mug. 

“Oh, Hilda.” He turns to regard her warmly, his voice low. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so early.” 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you, either.” Hilda shuffles into the kitchen, her socks sliding against the polished tile. “I was hoping to sneak in and get another few hours of sleep before you two started going at it again. How come you’re up so early?” 

“Hey, we’re not that bad.” But Sylvain laughs, knowing full well he’s lying. He sets the mug down and sighs, looking off into the distance, somewhere past Hilda’s shoulder. “I dunno. I guess I was just restless. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” 

Hilda raises a brow. She’s momentarily torn between wanting to know what the latest gossip with him is and dreading hearing about it, because it’s hard to tell when Sylvain will just brush something off or if he’ll go into actual detail about what’s bothering him, and it’s way too early to be listening to someone else’s problems if he chooses the latter. 

In the end, she doesn’t get a choice. Sylvain shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts, and grins sheepishly at Hilda. “Actually, it kinda concerns you, in a way.” 

“Oh, no.” 

“Come on, hear me out.” The coffee pot goes off. He fetches her mug from the cupboard and fills it, sliding it over along with the cream and sugar he’d already prepared for himself. It’s as good a bribe as any, and Hilda accepts it. 

“Fine. Go on, then,” she says.

But Sylvain doesn’t go on. Not yet. There’s a beat of silence, and in that beat Hilda notices the way he taps his finger against the side of the counter, staccato-quick. There’s no rhythm to it, and there’s a strange tension in how he’s holding himself and how his eyes keep flicking around the room, like he can’t decide what to focus on, or like he’s looking for an escape route.

Hilda doesn’t like it. 

“I…” Sylvain swallows, licks his lips. He laughs breathlessly, like he’s embarrassed, and lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I, uh, was thinking… I want to…” 

“Goddess, Sylvain, just spit it out.” 

“I want to ask Claude to marry me.” 

… _What._

“What?!” Hilda gasps. She practically launches herself over the island to clutch Sylvain’s hand in both of hers. “Oh, Sylvain, congratulations—!” 

“Shhh!” Sylvain claps a hand over Hilda’s mouth, throwing a panicked glance over his shoulder back at Claude’s room. “Quiet, he’s still sleeping!” he stage-whispers. 

Hilda nods. Sylvain slowly slides his hand off her face, then lowers it and resumes drumming his fingers against the countertop. “Yeah. So. That’s what’s up.”

Hilda beams. “Can I see the ring?” 

Sylvain shakes his head. “I don’t have it yet. Like I said, I’ve only been thinking about it. But I’ve picked one out.” 

He ends up pulling his phone from his sweatpants’ pocket and pulling it up. It’s a nice thing, not too complicated. Hilda thinks Sylvain could probably afford something more ostentatious, but she can’t deny that this is more Claude’s style than anything she would have personally chosen.

“The wedding ring’s going to be nicer though, right?” she asks, side-eyeing him skeptically.

“Hilda, you’re killing me. Of course it is.” 

“Good. He deserves to be treated like a prince!” 

Sylvain grins. “Don’t let him hear you say that, or it’ll go to his head. Or demand to be treated like a king instead.” He slips his phone back into his pocket, leans against the counter, and picks up his mug. “That’s kind of the least of my worries, though.” 

Hilda frowns. Now _this_ is what she doesn’t want to hear. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she says, hoping to cut him off before he makes a big deal out of everything. Goddess, why can’t he just be happy? “Claude’s a bit of a slob, but—” 

“That’s not what I mean.” Ah. So much for trying to deflect before he could dump all his woes on her. “I’m not worried about being with Claude at all,” Sylvain continues. “Heck, we’ve made it work this long, I’m pretty sure that’s a record for me. Nah, I’m more worried about Dimitri.” 

_Oh_.

He looks at her expectantly, and Hilda fidgets under his gaze, shifting her weight on her seat and adjusting her grip on her mug. She doesn’t ask; she just waits. 

“I know you stayed with him for a while when we were out of town,” Sylvain continues slowly. “He told me all about it. You really made him feel safe, you know.” 

“Oh, please.” Hilda’s face heats. She looks away. “Ingrid was there too.” 

“Yeah, but you should have heard the way he went on about you! Taking time out of your busy schedule to stay with him, even when he didn’t feel like he deserved it – and don’t worry, I told him he did,” Sylvain adds when he sees Hilda open her mouth to scold him. “And you two have been spending so much time together… I dunno, I thought I’d ask.” 

“...Ask what, Sylvain?” Hilda intones, even though she’s pretty sure she already knows what he’s about to say. 

He shrugs sheepishly. “If Claude and I… you know. We’ll have to move in together, probably even before we hold the ceremony itself, and Dimitri will be left all alone…” He sighs. “I know he’d be fine with Ingrid or Dedue, but… I was hoping I could count on you to keep an eye on him.” 

Hilda blinks. “Are you… You want me to move in with him?” 

Sylvain lets out an awkward laugh. “Heh. I never said that, but… yeah, if it’s something you’d be okay with. And there’s no rush, I haven’t even asked Claude yet, and we’d have to talk about getting a place together before anything else—” 

Hilda silences Sylvain with a finger to his lips. She smiles, and although her face still burns, it’s a pleasant heat now, not an embarrassed one. “Quiet, Sylvain. You’re going to wake Claude.” 

“Then…” 

She nods. “I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

Sylvain smiles, eyes practically watering with relief. “Thanks, Hilda.” 

“Just don’t ask me to help plan your wedding.” 

Sylvain places a hand over his heart. “Of course not. Never in a million years.” 

* * *

Hilda flops down on her bed, smiling up at the ceiling and feeling unreasonably giddy over Sylvain’s news. She’d never really figured Claude to be the marriage type – or the type to be in a long-term relationship at all, for that matter, what with his endless plans and ambitions – and she’d been pretty sure Sylvain wasn’t the type to want to get married either, given what he’d been like before he and Claude got together. But for once, she’s happy to have been proven wrong. 

Who would have thought one hookup could have led to all this? Hilda gives herself a mental pat on the back for setting them up in the first place, and pulls her phone out to text Dimitri. 

**Hilda** (8:56am)  
_soooo_

 **Hilda** (8:56am)  
_I have some good news for u! (*˃ᴗ˂)_

 **Dimitri** (9:00am)  
_Is that so?_

 **Hilda** (9:01am)  
_yup! but I can’t just tell u over the phone…~ we’ll have to meet up in person!_

 **Dimitri** (9:02am)  
_It’s that kind of news, is it? Very well._

 **Dimitri** (9:02am)  
_I am just about to shower and leave the gym. Shall I meet you at the café by your house this time?_

 **Hilda** (9:03am)  
_sounds good, baby! See u in half an hour_

 **Hilda** (9:03am)  
_( ˘ ³˘)♥_

 **Dimitri** (9:04am)  
_♥ .)_

She sets her phone down and sighs up at the ceiling. There’s plenty of time to shower and get ready, but right now, Hilda needs a moment to gather herself mentally. Things are starting to change – no, things have been changing for a while now. And while at first Hilda may have been nervous about it, about losing her bachelorette lifestyle and committing to someone like Dimitri, now she’s nothing but pleased. Being in a relationship had been scary at first: Dimitri has a lot of baggage, and sometimes Hilda still isn’t sure she can help carry it all, and she still worries that she might not live up to his expectations of her. 

But now, seeing that her friends are finding and pursuing their own happiness, Hilda feels like things are finally settling into place for her. She feels like she can do anything. As long as she has Dimitri by her side, supporting her and letting her support him in turn, everything will be okay. 

She’s happy with this. Happy with _him_. And she’s going to make damn sure he’s just as happy with her, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and think you might like to see more, have a chat, or would like to get to know me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r).
> 
> And if you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1355219789560471554). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
